Gemotions

Sweat slicked down Leo’s back, plastering his jersey to his skin. He couldn't meet Coach Miller's gaze, studying instead the scuff marks on the gym floor. Each one seemed to magnify, blurring into a dizzying pattern. He gripped the edge of the bleacher, knuckles bone-white. The air in the gym suddenly felt too thick, like wading through molasses.

"Leo," Coach Miller's voice sliced through the silence. Leo flinched. He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat that made it difficult to breathe. The other players milled around, chattering, but it was as if they were speaking through cotton.

He stood up, his legs feeling like jelly. Every eye was on him, he was sure. He shuffled towards the coach, his face burning. He wanted to disappear, to dissolve into the worn wood of the bleachers. "Yes, Coach?" he managed, his voice barely a whisper. The words felt foreign coming out of his own mouth.